Years in a Day
by Norick Madcaskae
Summary: You've waited this long...I suppose I shouldn't be surprized.


"Time…" he starts, shaking his head, "of all the things we need or have in abundance, time is the one we can always complain about, regardless the situation." I blink a couple times, mulling over his words. I look at the glass in front of me, taking in a deep breath of the smoke-filled air that surrounds us.

"How do you figure?" I ask after a long pause, almost like the answer would make the impact that I need at the moment. I watch him, like some kind of hypocritical sage, as he all but chokes back the contents of the glass in front of him. He shakes his head some more, obviously deep in thought over the question. Looking for the best possible way to give me the answer.

The normal chatter of people surrounds us as the jukebox plays some soft, barroom, piano rock. Marv, the bartender, seems almost completely uninterested in all that goes on around him. Seems more content, rubbing his chin in some kind of trance. He answers the call for more alcohol as if he weren't really human.

Not many know it, but Marv is actually a genius of sorts. The kind of man who deserves respect. Though, no one takes him seriously 'round these parts on account of the fact that he's…well…human.

"Tails, sometimes, people need something to complain about. Sometimes they complain about simple things, sometimes it's complex things. The one and only thing, however, that all people complain about is time and how much of it is available. Maybe they complain that there's too much or maybe they complain about a lack of it. Either way, they complain about it."

The glass looks almost clean now, empty of all things that may have at one time been present.

Twist slightly to the left to survey the general area.

The bar is nicely polished mahogany. There's enough room for only the bartender and maybe a helper if said person can stay almost completely out of the way. The wall is covered with varying kinds of alcohol, some dating back years that I can't even count to.

Behind me are tables and booths, all setup in a simple restaurant-esque style. There's a jukebox with music from, quite literally, every genre. Setup that way, because Marv truly is a man who knows the meaning of the words, "open minded." If you look up the phrase, you'll likely find his picture somewhere in the definition.

I quickly down the contents of the glass in front of me and toss it back to him. Without missing a beat, much less looking up, he refills the glass and sends it back to me by sliding it down the table. It comes to a neat and steady stop right where it was before.

I sip from the new glass, set it down again and turn to face the doorway. I like to see the train coming before it hits me, and I know that, in all likelihood, a train will be coming.

I see waiters bringing out food to people at tables, I see people chattering about the day as it's passed them by, I see children munching on some tasty treat of some kind while parents discuss divorce terms. Bliss, some would say, is ignorance. Certainly that's conceivable to the standpoint that innocence is simply a nice way of saying ignorant.

It's not such a bad thing, ignorance. For example, there are many who are ignorant of death as it approaches them. As well there are these children: ignorant of their parents fighting because they live, complete, in their own, little, dream world. A place where, undoubtedly, fairies and other such mythical creatures roam freely, all ignorant of the pain and suffering that surrounds them. Ignorant to be happy, happy to be ignorant. Like some kind of vicious cycle that doesn't even have the capable coding to end itself.

I hate children.

My personal wise-man quickly downs another glass of hard liquor before turning to face the door behind us. He smiles at the people and surveys the area. "Look at them," he starts, on the verge of contentment, "they're just so, completely clueless as to how the world really works." I looked at him, briefly, before turning my attention to my glass, taking yet another sip. Blink twice and set the glass down, watching the ice jiggle like jell-o in the beverage. "How does the world really work?" I ask him, contemplatively.

"The world turns, as we know it, on a force we understand only enough to give a definition to," he explains, simply and without restraint. He's arrogant, I think, and it's the only thing that'll ever stand out as a downfall to who he is and what makes him. "I don't follow," I say, finally, after a pause. His smile leaves his face and points at a group of people. They look like a family who's just walked in, still getting seated. A man, a woman, and a child. All the ingredients for the average family, in an average home, in an average town.

"Those people are regulars, right?" he says, pointing. I nod in half-hearted agreement, being that I don't actually recall at the moment. He drops his hand to his side, grabbing his glass, taking another swig. Managed to plow through eleven glasses, so far. We've been here for about two and a half to three hours. "What does that have to do with gravity?" I asked, curious now.

"Did I say anything about gravity?" He looked at me, quizzically, almost as if to make another point. One, however, that I got. "No…no, you didn't specifically say, "gravity." But I assumed-"

"You should never assume," he interrupted, "Doing so causes confusion and leads you down the wrong path. It's like trying to answer a question that hasn't been asked yet."

"Mkay."

We are now both watching the family, quite openly, as it were. Focused on the subjects at hand.

"Now, that family, as I recall, are religious, yes? Christian, more specifically," he starts up again, as if he'd never stopped. I nod, taking a couple more sips from my own glass. "Fairly heavily, as I've heard it told, which always makes me wonder why they come here."

"No one said this place was, necessarily, sleazy. It's just as much a restaurant as it is a bar," he explains, showing little to no sign of interest in anyone who might be listening. He picks up his glass and downs it, like so many times before.

Twelve.

The heavy alcohol, I think, is starting to wear on him, slightly. His movements are a little slower, and he's having a hard time keeping his hands straight when he points at things.

"What would a devout Christian tell you, if you asked them about why the world spins, and circles the sun?" he asks after a short pause, leaning back onto the bar. I knew what I would say, were I in their place, but I couldn't seem to think of a casual, devout, Christian response to a question like that. The only answer I can come up with, is what I would answer, which I know is wrong simply because most Christians wouldn't believe so heavily in their god that they would completely deny simple truths and facts.

"Gravity?" I ask, after much thought.

"Close your mind more," he suggests, grinning at me, teasingly.

"Close…my mind…?"

"Yes."

I mull over the request for a while, just trying to get a grip on what he means. "Like…just assume I'm a devout Christian and pick up the stereotypical mentality?" I finally ask, giving him a look that all but screams "are you insane?" He shrugs and says, "You tell me. If you were a closed minded, zealous, religious person, what would you say to me if I asked you a question like, 'Why does our planet revolve around the sun?'"

Blink twice, turn around, and stare at the glass on the bar. Take three sips, set the glass down and blink twice more. I turn back and stare at the family, listening to the music as it echoes around the bar. "I'd probably tell you that either you're an idiot for questioning how things work, or that it's simply how the gods deem it to be," I explain, causing him to smile. He nods a little and says, "Both respectable possibilities. But you'd probably explain it a little more clearly. Something like, "God created everything we can and can't see, which includes any and all physical and non-physical anomalies that we attempt to explain through science. God causes weather fronts, climate changes, gravity, everything. He controls it all, completely, just like he controls our destinies. It's all simply part of his plan."

I listen to his words, nodding as he continues down his very straight path from A to B. I shake my head slightly feeling the buzz from the alcohol I've been drinking as it takes over my brain. It shouldn't be, as I have a much higher tolerance than this, but I can't help but feel like it's doing more than normal. It's probably because of all this philosophical stuff about deities and science. "What does this have to do with the family and what you said earlier?"

"Well," he begins, "this is, probably, what the family would say if confronted with a question like the one I posed before." His explanation warrants a nod from me, which he receives. "This is their explanation to what makes the world turn and spin around the sun, as we know it."

I nod and respond with a simple "okay." Nothing fancy, just something to keep any awkward silence from creeping in.

"Now, a scientist would tell you that that's a load of bullshit. We go around the sun because of the gravitational pull of the sun and we spin because of various forces around the planet and our solar system," he explains, not going into any specific details. I think he knows that I'm a little slower now, than normal, so he's keeping things relatively simple. "Alright," I dully respond, not making much effort to interject with my own opinions on any of the matters at hand.

"Which one's right?"

"What?"

"Which of the two theories is correct, Tails?"

I put some thought into the question, letting it really roll around my head for a while. I watch as the family orders food and prepare for the evening's meal. Simple setup procedures, nothing out of the ordinary. The child, a girl, is quite content listening to her CD player, the mother and father have hands folded and are smiling at each other and occasionally, at the girl.

"Science. It's the only one that truly explains, in greater detail, what forces specifically cause spinning and all other possible contributors to our planet's constant movement. As well, it explains in a less zealous and clearer light what causes the planet to circle the sun without simply colliding with it or any of the other planets in the solar system," I explain, sounding somewhat proud of the fact that I came to this conclusion on my own. He keeps quiet for a moment then downs another glass.

"And you're positive of this?" he finally asks, grinning, slyly.

"Fairly."

"Than you aren't positive. Fairly positive means you don't actually know for sure if what you're saying even actually means anything," he says, almost laughing. I greet him with a birdie before sipping at my drink some more. This causes him to laugh, as well as apparently warrants him patting me on the back.

"The truth is, you're actually not right, regardless. You're basing your answer on a blind faith and you're not even sure, entirely, of your faith," he notes, smiling the whole time. Turning away from me, he puts his arms behind his head, getting somewhat more comfortable against the bar. "Neither of the answers really _is_ correct," he eventually adds.

"One of them has to be right," I counter, somewhat flustered by his ignorance. He simply shakes his head, still smiling that devilish smile. "That's the trick, Tails. Nothing you know necessarily has to be right or wrong. We simply define it as right or wrong based on what we choose to believe. Some people believe that gods created us; some people believe we simply formed as some kind of predestined evolution. The one thing, however, that these beliefs both follow is that the world was, essentially, created for us. It was simply meant to be."

He wasn't wrong though I hate to admit it. I turn back to the bar and stare, somewhat depressingly, down at my glass. I take a couple more sips before looking back up, in amazement, at the wall of booze that stands before me. A piece of architectural mastery that will never find its place in the great books of such things because it's somehow impractical to 'real' people. Goddamned waste, I say.

I look back at my deeply endowed companion and, despite an attempt to stop myself, hear myself ask the question. "So what is the correct answer, then?" He looks at me as if to say that I already know. "Well, it would be conceited of me to say that I knew such a thing. But I'd wager that my answer is better than one you could come up with and I've already told you what my answer is," he states, chugging back another glass of alcohol.

Thirteen.

A few more sips and my glass is now empty. Slide it forward and watch as Marv manages to serve both me and a guy down at the other end of the bar. No confusion, no questions. It's the kind of talent that comes with years upon years of practice, something that most people would complain they simply don't have the time for. Make it your job and it's suddenly your life.

"So, basically, what you're saying is that all the answers are wrong but you don't know what the right answer is?" I finally ask, looking back to him. He smiles as only he can and stares at me. "If you know an answer to such a question that isn't based on simple, blind faith, and you're absolutely positive, without the benefit of doubt, you tell me, because you need and deserve a prize they've never invented yet," he jokes, laughing. Continuing on with his speech, his hands start to make random motions in front of him, to help explain things in a more physical light, I suppose. "You see, we don't know, and probably never will know why things are the way they are. We'd like to believe that it's either gods or gravity that keeps us on the planet's surface but we don't actually know for sure. They're all simply theories. Sure, the answers may make sense to some people but, to others, such answers are trivial and the real answers are very different."

"How do you know science or any of the religious beliefs are wrong?" I interject, making a point that even I barely understand at the moment. Thankfully, though, as I think about the words, I don't find myself regretting it. It's a decent question and, surely, one that deserves an answer.

"Because of the one 'b' word you said in that sentence," he said, simply. I almost slapped him for speaking in riddles and avoiding my questions like this. It was like some sick game to him. "Explain," I finally managed to let out, agitated but still fairly calm.

"I know the answers are wrong simply because they're not really answers. They're all just beliefs. They're sort of like bandages or duct tape. Sure, they cover up the hole, but they haven't found the piece to actually fill it with. They're still searching for the real answers but, for now, these one's work to give plausible reasoning," he explains, shrugging at the end. He quickly drinks down his fourteenth glass, sets it off to the side and turns back to the restaurant area. "So many people accept them as answers because they _are_ plausible reasons. Answers are definitive. Positive."

I nod, a bit, letting the words circle my head as I sip away at my now refilled glass. "Do you know this stuff out of experience or did you read it somewhere and adopt yourself as a proverbial prophet of sorts?" I ask, looking at him, grinning. He chuckles in response and downs the fifteenth. "Experience. Over the years, things become apparent to everyone. Some people choose to accept them, some people choose to ignore them, and yet others become one with them," he explains, looking around the bar, astounded by numerous forms of alcohol, some of which, I'm sure, he wasn't even aware existed on mortal soil

"Elaborate," comes my request. Simple, straight to the point. He nods and grabs a napkin and drops it on the floor. "What're you going to do about that?" I shrug and begin surveying the area like he had been. "See, you're one who ignores it, or will when it comes."

I give him a quizzical look and ask him to explain once more. From here he turns to me, specifically. Focused, as if the alcohol had never been consumed. "As I said, over the years, things become apparent. I can't really explain what they are, because a lot of them only become apparent with age and explaining them doesn't do much good," he starts off, a little hastily, as if the intro wasn't really needed, but he used it every time he gave this particular speech. "Okay," comes the reply as I sip from my glass a couple more times.

"Anyways, but yeah; main thing is that things become apparent. Now, again there are three kinds of people."

I interrupted, but not rudely, "Those who ignore, those who accept and those who assimilate."

"Exactly." He nods as he quickly gulps back his drink. Fifteen down, far too many more to go, no doubt. In this case, however, it's near impossible to tell. It usually depends on his mood, except that it's fairly obvious that he's not in a particularly bad mood. Then again he may be drinking the alcohol to help him explain things in simpler terms, as opposed to using big words that, in my current state, I can barely understand.

"You are one who accepts," he explains, nodding at me. "How do you figure? Because I wouldn't pick up the napkin?" I question with a thoughtful tone. My voice wavers slightly, probably because I myself am somewhat woozy.

"When I dropped that napkin, you saw it, understood that you could pick it up, but didn't."

"Did see much need to," I start but he quickly silences me. "Not the point," he huffed, simply, "all that matters is that you saw the napkin, understood you could do something about it, but chose not to."

"That's not ignoring it?" I ask, hoping I'd have him caught in his own twisted logic. No such luck, however. "The fact that you acknowledged it was there instantly proved and proves that you accept it. Accepting something doesn't mean you necessarily do anything about it. You simply understand it."

"So what you're saying," I start, mulling over the words, "is that, essentially, I accepted the napkin but chose not to do anything about it?" He nods somewhat and shakes his head while nodding as well. "Kind of, sort of, no. See, accepting something has nothing to do with whether or not you do something about something. We're not discussing ignoring things. The reason I know you accepted the napkin is because you looked at it once it had hit the floor, thus showing you that you had new options available and that the napkin does exist."

Blink twice and try again, "So if I look at something, I accept it?" He shakes his head a little and points again at the napkin. "It's on the floor, see? You looked at it once it was on the floor. Someone who would ignore it would have to be told it was there but wouldn't necessarily give it any kind of glance. You not only looked at it but continue to discuss it. Thusly, you accept that the napkin exists. You just don't want to do anything about the fact that I've dropped it on the floor." His explanation makes sense, to a point, but I am still a little confused. I think he's starting to trip on his own logic because of the alcohol. At this point it's hard to tell because of his poker face. In his mind, he's making perfect sense. When it comes out of his mouth, however, it gets somewhat garbled.

"You don't quite get it just yet, do you?" he asks, no longer looking at me, but smiling. I shake my head, smiling back, and turn back to the bar to take a sip of the alcohol.

"Pity."

I stare at him for a while, expecting him to go on. When I decide he won't, I sip at my drink some more. After finishing it, I push it away from me, but not towards Marv. I then watch as the modern day sage gulps back the sixteenth glass, stands, and drops several coins on the bar. "Keep the change, Marv," he says, walking away. I stand up and straighten myself before dropping some coins of my own down. "Yeah…what he said."

I turn around, pick up the napkin, put it in my pocket, and walk my way out after him.

"So I suppose I ask then…what are your opinions on all of this?" I begin a conversation I think will be a little more interesting than simply talking about the bright, stars in the sky tonight. "I told you them, to a degree," he explains, not looking at me. He's obviously a little bothered by something, so I figure I'll keep questions simple on him.

"I guess I'm not as smart as you thought I was…" I say, feeling a little hurt but understanding about the whole thing. "Tails, it has nothing to do with whether you're smart or not," he begins, stopping, "It's all based on if you're willing to listening. You just don't want to listen because you are stuck, so to speak, in your beliefs." Pondering his words, we start moving again, the cold air finally catching up. A few people pass by wishing happy holidays to us. I smile to them, pocketing my hands, but keeping silent otherwise.

"Sonic, I have to ask..." I begin, dreading what comes of anything. Thus is my relationship with him. My greatest friend, my only true friend. He's still intimidating after fourteen long years of friendship. After the war, after everything that's happened between and around us.

I look at his face and he smiles. "Why is it you've always kept to yourself about these beliefs? Why haven't you told anyone your opinions? I feel as if you're a sage laying down his last ponderings of the world to me, the likes of which being something beyond comprehension of virtually everyone." I feel distress slowly lurking its way up my spine as I say this and I can't help but laugh a little as I do. It's nice to see him laugh as well and he puts his arm around me. "The truth is, buddy, stuff like this is the reason Robotnik was who he was and is where he is."

"What?"

He smiles, steps into view, and looks at me. "If I told you King Maximillion was a jealous king, what would you say?" Smirking and shaking my head I reply, "I'd say, "About time someone admitted it for him." We both laugh at the comment and Sonic nods and looks back at me. "The thing of it is, Robotnik had power. The more power Robotnik had, the more the king became jealous of him. Jealousy, as you know, is a powerful force of its own, but the results are rarely what you would call good." I nod in agreement and we continue walking.

"You see, before becoming Robotnik, his name was Kintobar of the family Ivo. Kintobar was a just human who believed in our cause and was, truthfully, one of the generals from the beginning. The problem is that as his army grew stronger so did he. He became more and more curious about how the systems worked as his political power grew with his militaristic powers. The king, being a jealous monarch, constantly reminded him of his _lesser_ position. There were times where the king attempted to sabotage Ivo's missions but failed. One day, when Ivo was running through his plans, the king came to see him and asked him to explain the invention my uncle Chuck had brought to light. Ivo explained that the device turns living flesh into robotics, the idea being that it would leave the being stable and alive. This was useful to prolong life and heal wounds. The problem was, at the time, there was no way to reverse the effects. And to date, reversing them is dangerous business."

"Right," I respond, letting his story soak in. Stretch my arms as we walk on down the street. Again wishing a merry Christmas to passersby. Never been much for the holidays but I don't complain anyways.

"The king ordered his guards to sent Ivo into the machine and turn it on. He told them that he wanted to see the machine in action. Ivo struggled as much as he could but before he knew it, he was encased in the shield and the machine was started," he explained, getting a grim tone in his voice. From there he began again. "What the king had not figured into his plan, however, was that Ivo was much larger than the average human or Mobian. He was quite a bit larger. Though he looks like a blob, he's got more muscle on him than one would think."

I nod as a sign of understanding. We sit on a bench and he continues his story.

"Needless to say, Ivo managed to break out of the shield before he was fully transformed and before the built-in anaesthetics took their hold of him. He collapsed to the floor and fell into unconsciousness. When he woke up, he was in one of the castles hospital rooms, staring the king in the face. The king basically told him that the job would be finished should he ever forget his place in the hierarchy."

Snow drifts past our faces, landing on my nose. It's almost poetic the way it works out, seeming to only be noticeable during the breaks in his story. I haven't interjected, yet, which is somewhat unusual of me. Normally, even with Sonic, I would have long ago told him my opinion because I was right. But it's strange…I know I'm wrong. He turns to me and starts again, a stern look in his eyes.

"Well, Ivo was a good spirit. But even good spirits break."

I can't help but chuckle, uneasily, before I finally say my piece. "I knew this was coming. Lemme guess: Robotnik got jealous of the king, right?" Sonic shakes his head and smiles. "No, Ivo, as it turns out, never was jealous of anything. Not the king, not you, not me, nothing. He had no real reason to be, as he saw it. No, what happened to Ivo was a little different. See, when you are transformed, the computer attempts to track down your mind, your proverbial soul, preserve it completely, and reproduce it in your new body. Problem is that Ivo's transformation was stopped before the computer had a chance to finish the process. The end result was that his brain was all but literally split in half. His good nature took a back seat to watch the show as his new personality, the aptly nicknamed, "Robotnik," took revenge on the king for what he did."

I sit, stunned by his words. I can't help but feel like all this time everything's been a big misunderstanding and that everything we've all ever known is wrong. I look around almost nervously, watching the world shift as my eyes do. "But…how do you know this? How did you find this all out?" I ask, finally, simply desperate to keep things rolling. "Actually," he began, "I was told the story from the two lead players. The king and Ivo themselves. The king kind of told the story to me to tell me why he felt I wasn't needed to stop the war. But I actually got to meet the good natured Ivo one time while captured. He explained that, in the beginning, he was an outcast, kind of like you and me, from his own land because he didn't agree with their ways."

"So…you're saying that we're actually…like Robotnik?" I ask, hearing a hint of disgust in my voice as I look back at him. He shakes his head and holds up a finger to accentuate his point. "No, we're nothing like Robotnik. Robotnik is an ill-tempered, vengeful, half-man who wants nothing more than total destruction of virtually everyone and everything. What I'm saying is that we are, in a way, like Ivo."

I look up to the sky and let the words roll around in my head, curious about almost everything at this point. "It's amazing to me…how much you know and how little you have to show for it." He smiles and pats my back. "That's because you're under the impression that people are looking, very specifically, for a smart person, from the inside out, rather than the outside in," he explains, obvious understanding in his voice. I shake my head in disbelief as we both lean back.

"Do you hear ringing?" I ask, digging a finger in my ear. Sonic looks at me and shakes his head. We both shrug, stand, and head off down a dark trail.

The snow's bitter cold, itself, but the temperature would probably rate at something at around 30. Fairly warm on a winter day like this. Not unusual though, as it usually is warmer when it snows. Sonic and I become surrounded by trees as we venture down the path, keeping quiet and to ourselves. Me in my own head and him in his.

"I guess I have to ask…why don't you tell anyone else this stuff? I know I, pretty much, already asked it but it's still bugging me," I pipe up, breaking the awkward silence. My almost childlike ignorance makes me feel dumber than I know I am. At this point, though, I can't help it. "Truth is, Tails, that was the whole point of my story. I _would_ try to tell people this stuff. But I care more about my responsibility to help keep the people of this planet safe than I do about whether or not what I have to say gets heard. If I told the wrong person any of that story I told you, they'd sooner kill me than risk the chance of simply telling me to keep it to myself," he explains, flustered from the scenario he's just painted in front of me.

More awkward silence as I contemplate my next question or response. It's hard to say anything when the guy you've always thought yourself smarter than, turns out to know virtually everything that is vital to not only take total control over the planet, but has the charisma (and the self-confidence) to do it. Unlike you.

"I guess I never thought to ask you what you really knew about the world around you. Always figured you kind of lived in your own, little place, surrounded by the people who cheered you on," I exhale after a long wait. No sooner do I say does he just burst out into laughter. The kind, one would think, that would kill you. "You always sound so solemn about it. You already know that I'm not who I am on camera. You've known me since the days before we _were_ on camera. I've always been very self-confident; I've just never made the leap from confidence to righteousness. People like a hero, however, who is very full of himself. Makes them envy me and people like wanting what they can't have," he explains, slowly but surely calming down to a chuckle. I shake my head, making a few chuckles of my own. "How very cynical of you," I say, a small bit of sarcasm in my voice.

It's here whereabouts that I feel myself becoming somewhat sick to my stomach.

"Do it, now."

It's here and now that I know what's coming like the world is no longer in color. Honor, prestige, love, care, happiness, and sadness simply don't exist anymore. The world has lost itself in the black hole that surrounds me as everything kicks the autopilot on.

"Do it, now."

"Sonic," I say, no emotion in anything I do.

"Yeah, Tails?" he asks, confusion surrounding his face for the first time in years.

"It's time."

"It's time," I say, standing directly in front of him, "No one's hereabout and it's the middle of the night."

"…Hm…" he says, slowly smiling, "You've waited this long…I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

Eyes widen and I almost fall over. "What!?" I all but scream. I suddenly grab him by the coat and life him in the air, not really even telling myself to do so. "How did you know!? There's no way you could've simply guessed!"

"Tails, you have to understand, I've known you too long to let the little things go by me. I know almost everything about. Your records, your wins, your losses, your fears, your lusts; Hell, I even know how much you're getting," he explains, stifling laughter.

"Don't you laugh at me!" I command, setting him down. "When did I tell you!?"

He shakes his head putting his hand on my shoulder. "You didn't," he finally says, a big grin on his face. I can only sit in stunned silence, watching his eyes look towards the sky. I note that he's not running, much less that he's making an attempt of any kind to keep me away from him.

"Who did, then?" I ask, defeated.

"Your employer. Or…more correctly, he told me he had a fail-proof plan to take me out should he ever feel the need. I knew that there was only one person I could trust to get any job done, and I also knew that that same person was the only person that I wouldn't stop, should he ever try to do anything to me. _Anything_," he emphasizes the last word to make his point. I feel tears forming in my eyes as I look at him.

"Why?"

What he told me next is the one and only thing I've ever hoped to hear from anyone.

"Tails," he begins, "I know you were only doing your job. But you've been more for me than anyone I've ever met. You've been a caring friend, an understanding brother, and more. The only thing I regret is never telling you any of this sooner. I know, for a fact, that you would never do anything without thinking it through first and I know that you're smart enough to know the answers that even I would've never found. You encompass everything I could ever ask out of a person."

Tears are now visibly dropping from my face to the snow covered ground before. Fists are shaking and my face feels like it'll explode any minute. "What all do you know?"

"I know you were hired at the age of seven, approximately one month before actually meeting me. I know that you use your real name on your assignments and I know you are truly my friend. Regardless of anything else."

I grin, tears still in my eyes, as I look back at him. "You know more than I could ever hope to. But I have a job to do. If it makes you happy…I'll make it painless," I offer, sympathetically, hugging him.

"Whatever makes you happy, Tails."

Goodbye, Sonic.

"See ya' soon, Tails."

Silence.

He drops from my grip, deader than dead. Quiet, painless, and happy. It's almost sick to look at it that way. But he was right. He was right in almost all respects…save one.

I'm not sure I have a good reason to do what I've done. Nor do I think I ever did. Looking back, anyways.

"You've done well."

Autopilot slowly creeps back on me and I start my way out of the forest trail. "You wait fifteen years?" I ask, somewhat agitated by what's taken place.

"You were my last ditch effort, canine. You knew what was coming when I hired you."

"Is what he's said…true?" I question, making myself a little more apparent to public eyes.

"Yes."

"Wow…and here I was, so sure that all this time, you were just jealous of a little hedgehog," I say, obviously mocking him. I can't help but grin menacingly, as the sludge-like words leave my mouth. People give me odd stares, not something unusual to me at this point. I've no need to pay attention to them any more.

"There is one thing you missed, _Tails_."

"What is it, _Robotnik_?" I don't care, honestly. I've gotten done what I needed to and that's really all I've been here for. Simple, easy, clean, and quiet.

"Aren't you at all curious about why Sonic said, 'See you soon?'"

I stop in my tracks, truly surprised for the third time today. Must be my birthday.

I feel the back of my neck for the first time in years as a jarring pain shoots around my body at the speed of light. I scream for about five minutes straight as I drop to the ground. I try to look around me as my vision blurs. I see pieces of spinal chord and brain stem lying around me, surrounded by blood. Like I'd been shot.

"Your communication device is a bomb. I've no need to waste my money on you, canine. Have a nice afterlife."

Silence…

"Princess! I found something in Tails' hut! You need to read it! Now!" shouted Rotor, running to catch up with Sally as she made her way through Knothole almost aimlessly. These were the quiet days, those which she loathed. What she hated most about them, however, was that the real fun was never around to talk to.

"What is it?" she asked, taking a seat on a covered swing-chair. He handed her the folder and began rambling, she thought, about nonsense. He was speaking so fast that she couldn't understand him. Her hand went up and he went silent. "How about…" she began, "I just read it for myself?"

Opening the folder, a piece of paper greets her eyes.

_Memoirs:_

To whomever should find this:

My name is Miles Prower. Current nickname: Tails.

My missions are read clearly. Where other people have jobs that preoccupy their time, my jobs literally are my time. I spend days, weeks, even months at a time to do what I do best. That all changed one day when I was greeted by one Kintobar "Robotnik" of the family Ivo. The assignment was simple but, all the same, required I make more time than ever previously experienced. I would have to stay in waiting for anywhere from a few months to several years. I was offered a large sum of money, in return for the job. I accepted, knowing what needed to happen and how things would go.

I've been waiting approximately fifteen years since then to complete this one task. Fifteen years, waiting for the call.

My current assignment: assassinate Mobius' hero, "Sonic the Hedgehog."

Proving to be my most difficult assignment yet.

I find myself questioning whether I should really go through with things when the time comes. I have befriended both Sonic and his companions in Knothole Village to a level that I've not yet experienced. They've become family to me. Professionalism, however regrettable, makes no time for one to become 'enlightened'. It is on this day, that I've decided, instead to write this. For the villagers of Knothole to read. Though Robotnik has no way of knowing what I do or where I may be, he can and will contact me at any moment to do what I do best. Kill.

I was, until I met Sonic and the Freedom Fighters, well renowned for the kills I'd done for political figures, including the likes of one King Maximillion Acorn, who only contacted me through computerized messages. To date, only Robotnik has ever come to me, face to face, for a mission.

As time has passed, however, said reputation has disappeared and Miles Prower, the top assassin has ceased to exist, to make way for Miles "Tails" Prower, the loving friend and sidekick of Sonic the Hedgehog.

As well, as time has passed, I've become increasingly regretful of my previous life. Being that such is the case, I have written this for any in Knothole village to see.

Please, stop me before it's too late.

Yours honestly and truly,

Miles "Tails" Prower

_All characters are © (Copyrighted) Service and Games (SEGA)_

_Written by Gogehenks/Norick Madcaskae_

_Time is only what one can make of it. The truth that we know about time is simply that there is none left. But the truth we know nothing about is that time is an overly abundant thing. We have more time than we know what to do with._

_Being that such is the case, we believe that (after having filled our time with daily routines) we no longer have time. But to make time is far simpler than one would probably believe._

_Learn. Live. Create._

_- Gogehenks/Norick Madcaskae_


End file.
